


warming

by labeledbones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labeledbones/pseuds/labeledbones
Summary: Timmy is always cold and here is some fluff about it. :)





	warming

He wakes up from a nap he hadn’t intended to take, his face pressed into Harper’s pink bedspread, the book he’d been reading to her face down by his knees, Harper herself asleep in the middle of the bed on her stomach, arms curled under her. 

He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks down at Harper and hooks a finger in her hair, pulling it away from her face before he stands up. She shifts in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. He puts the book back on the table next to her bed and leaves the room, closing the door halfway as he goes.

He shivers in the air conditioned hallway and feels goosebumps rise on his arms. 

Their house is always too cold for him. They leave him extra blankets at the foot of the guest bed. Elizabeth even bought him a tabletop space heater to keep on the nightstand. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it barely does anything for him unless he holds his hands right up against it. 

Now, he moves to the master bedroom and raids Armie’s dresser for the big, old hoodie that swallows him up and leaves him warm and smelling of Armie’s skin. He finds it in the bottom drawer and pulls it over his head. _Better_ , he thinks, pulling the collar up over his nose and breathing in. 

He makes his way downstairs, still feeling a little lost in space and time from his nap, listening for the sounds of Armie and Elizabeth. He hears Elizabeth’s fingers on her keyboard, furiously typing in her office, and decides not to bother her. He doesn’t hear anything from Armie which means he’s probably in the backyard. 

He stops on the stairs, taking in this particular moment. How ordinary it is for him to have been asleep upstairs while the two of them went about their Sunday afternoon tasks elsewhere in the house. So ordinary it feels surreal to him, loops back around to extraordinary. How easily he has come to fit into their lives. 

He hears himself whispering “I love you” to everyone, to no one, to the house itself, to the family inside of it, to the moment, to the universe. He says it one more time — “I love you” — as he continues down the stairs.

He slips out the backdoor and into the yard, the grass tickling between his toes. 

Armie stands at the grill, shirtless in shorts, and Timmy watches his back for a second. Strong shoulders, straight spine, skin sun kissed and golden.

He turns his head and looks over his shoulder at Timmy even though Timmy hasn’t made a sound. He smiles at Timmy, taking in his sweatpants, the sweatshirt. He says, with affection, “It’s 85 degrees out.” 

Timmy pulls the sleeves of the hoodie down over his hands and shrugs, smiles back at him, wraps his arms around himself. “Always cold,” he says, crossing the yard to where Armie stands.

“Too skinny,” Armie says, elbowing Timmy in the ribs and flipping a steak over on the grill. Timmy presses his cheek against Armie’s warm shoulder. “You’re getting this big one here.” He flips over another steak that’s as big as Timmy’s head. 

Timmy groans and sinks his teeth into Armie’s shoulder, standing up straight again. “I’m playing a meth addict. I’m supposed to lose weight,” he says, reaching up to move a wind blown piece of Armie’s hair back in place. “Besides, I couldn’t eat that whole thing even if I wanted to.” 

Armie knocks his hip into Timmy’s. “I’ve heard that before,” he winks.

“Stop,” Timmy warns and moves behind him to wrap his arms around Armie’s waist, trying to absorb all the heat in his body. 

Armie twists his head around to look at him, his lips brushing against Timmy’s curls. “And, if I recall, you managed to get the whole thing down,” he says with a salacious grin. 

Timmy buries his face between Armie’s shoulder blades, kissing him there, letting his tongue drag up his spine until he feels Armie start to shake. “You’re so fucking gross,” he says, pushing away from him.

“You love it,” Armie counters, reaching out to catch the pocket of the hoodie and pull Timmy back in. 

Timmy rolls his eyes, but lets himself be kissed. Warmth rolls through him then like it always does.

He goes back inside the house and finds Harper awake and sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen watching Elizabeth move around the kitchen putting together something full of sugar and butter and love. The air smells like lemons and vanilla. 

He sits down next to Harper, reaching his fingers out to tickle her side. She squeals and Elizabeth looks up and smiles warmly when she sees Timmy. “You’re both up from your naps, I see,” she says. 

Timmy rubs at his face. “Getting there,” he says. He can see Armie through the kitchen window, can still taste the sweat of his skin on his tongue. He pulls the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head and presses the fabric to his mouth. 

“I can turn the air down,” Elizabeth says already pressing buttons on the thermostat before Timmy can protest. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Armie thinks he needs to fatten me up.” 

Elizabeth laughs but looks at him. He knows how gaunt his face has gotten, his cheekbones sharper than usual. “You’re doing this the right way though, aren’t you?” she asks, concern creeping into her voice. 

“Working with my doctor and a nutritionist, promise,” he says, one hand over his heart.

Elizabeth just nods and sets a wine glass down in front of him without having to ask, pouring from an already open bottle of red wine on the counter. 

“Thank you,” he says. He pulls the wine glass towards him and takes a long sip.

Harper goes off to play in the living room and Timmy wanders to the window with his wine to watch Armie dance absently to whatever song he’s got playing out there. Elizabeth comes to stand behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “We’re lucky,” she says, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Timmy shakes his head, laughs a little. “ _I’m_ lucky,” he says and leans back against her, his eyes still on Armie who runs a hand through his hair and then looks back at them, grinning.

“How does he always know when I’m thinking about him?” he asks Elizabeth, his voice already sounding dreamy as he reaches the bottom of his wine glass. 

“You’re connected,” she says simply and moves to check the oven, leaving him there. 

He thinks about the word — _connected_ — as he watches Armie walk towards the house, as he catches Armie’s eyes again through the window, as Armie smiles and makes an exaggerated kissy face at him, as Armie comes back in through the back door, bringing the smell of sweat and meat with him, as Armie puts the steaks down on the dining room table, as Armie pulls Elizabeth into his side and kisses her face until she squirms out of his arms and tells him to put a clean shirt on, as Armie walks over to Timmy and wraps him up letting his sweat be absorbed by Timmy’s sweatshirt, as Armie lets him go again and pours himself a glass of wine, laughing at nothing, just bubbling over in that way of his, because his life is so full, their lives are so full. 

_“We’re lucky.”_ Elizabeth’s words echo in his mind. 

Armie reaches out and pushes Timmy’s hood off of his head. “Are you still cold?” he asks, his hand combing Timmy’s hair away from his forehead. 

Timmy shakes his head and Armie’s hand comes to rest on his cheek. “Not anymore,” he says.


End file.
